Virus
by khambilo
Summary: A mysterious virus has affected the actives at Dollhouse. Who is responsible?
1. Ululation

VIRUS

Chapter 1: Ululation

DISCLAIMER: Dollhouse belongs to... Joss Whedon, Mutant Enemy....I dunno, but not me

Adelle DeWitt carefully scrawled in neat cursive on the yellow legal pad. It was a note to herself, nothing more, but the pad carried the gorges of pen strokes that recorded the whims of the rich and the requests of the powerful.

Seeing the gorges on the pad was a simple reminder of what she did at Dollhouse.

The ripping of the paper from the pad was the last noise that Adelle's office heard. It was late, and even though she spent most of her time there, it certainly didn't entitle her to live there. The residents there had much more….contained accommodations.

To be most assured, Dollhouse never slept. The lights were darkened, and the actives were all nestled comfortably in their bed pods, but that was an illusion for the real activity.

DeWitt took a careful look around Dollhouse, scrutinizing every dark corner as she was accustomed to do as she left for the night to scrounge a few hours of rest. As far as she could tell, she was the only one present in the spacious chamber of Dollhouse's central area. She took quaint steps down the stair case, as if in avoidance of waking a child's slumber.

One child was not asleep, and not for DeWitt's doing. A howl resounded with agonizing furor through Dollhouse, a cry that could wake the dead. DeWitt stopped dead in her tracks and whipped out her phone, Mr. Dominic's contact number programmed for speed dial.

The cry resounded once more.

After a few digital beats, Dominic answered groggily. "Dominic here."

"Mr. Dominic, we have a problem," DeWitt commanded her chief of security.

Dominic's groggy tone sobered. "On my way."

Once gain the howl circulated through Dollhouse. It was coming from the east dormitories.

DeWitt shook her head, disregarding the notion of following the harrowing cry. She was this Dollhouse's head, it's voice in it's business transactions, not it's limbs, which carefully monitored the actives' vitals on outings and other such. She knew enough about the imprint process, but if the cry was indeed coming from an active, she would find herself quite useless to amend the situation.

Carefully, her heels clinked in the direction of the east dormitories. If on-site staff were there, she could coordinate the situation.

The howl continued as she proceeded down the hallway and even as she took her first steps into the pentagonal room that served as the dolls' bedchambers. Not one member of Dollhouse's staff was on site. How could she be the only one to hear the feral moaning?

DeWitt reached into her bag once more and procured her phone. The second number on her speed dial was Mr. Brink.

The phone dialed twice before the imprint neurologist picked up.

"Yeah," he said oddly, as if his mouth was filled with cotton balls.

"Mr. Brink, we may be dealing with an active failure," Dewitt snapped. "I need you here immediately."

Topher's answer was a bit more energized. "Oh, I'm here. Guess I got…sleepy."

Dewitt rolled her eyes. "Good. I'm in east dormitories."

"On my way, ma'am."

DeWitt slipped the phone into her bag once more and inched herself closer to the bed pod were the cry was resonating from.

The agonizing moans became slightly stifled cries, as DeWitt reached the bed pod.

"Gamma," she read aloud. The active moaning was Gamma. Dewitt vaguely remembered his last engagement: moderate risk, corporate espionage deal. Gamma's tormented form could be seen through the frosted glass that covered the pods. He was clutching his head.

Dewitt immediately looked for the override switch to open the bed pod.

"Don't let him out."

Dewitt spun to meet the voice behind her. It was Echo.

"Echo, what are you doing out," DeWitt asked pleasantly.

Echo's gaze was fixated on Gamma's bed pod.

"Don't let him out," she repeated, a bit emphatic for a active in its _tabula rasa_ state.

DeWitt stepped in the path of Echo's gaze and centered her eyes on Echo. "He's in pain, Echo. We need to help him."

Echo shook her head, almost like a petulant child, but there also seemed to be fear seeded behind her brown eyes.

"You won't help him, he's sick."

This caught DeWitt's attention. "Sick?"

Echo nodded vigorously. "And I don't want to scream like he does." Tears began to stream down Echo's face as she crumpled to the floor.

DeWitt saw the active before her, unsure of what she should do. These dolls were most comparable to children.

So, like a child, DeWitt rocked the crying Echo until Topher and Dominic arrived.


	2. Learning

VIRUS

Chapter 2: Learning

Topher assesses the situation with Gamma and Echo.

**Disclaimer: **Dollhouse doesn't belong to me. I just like the story, the character, and to write stuff for it.

* * *

"He freaked," Topher stated bluntly.

It had been about an hour since the incident in east dormitories. Dominic arrived with a security force in short order, though they were little help, and, once Topher arrived, Gamma and Echo were sedated.

Both Gamma and Echo were now under careful supervision in Topher's imprint lab. Gamma was lying in the all-too-un-cozy imprint chair as Topher conducted his analysis and after fifteen minutes of waiting, only Topher's blunt explanation was offered.

"Yes, we know," DeWitt answered as she rolled her eyes. "Why?"

Topher rushed back to a screen as he spoke. "Ah that's the thing, isn't it? All nestled sweetly in their beds they're supposed to be dreaming of lollipops and rainbows. But Gamma wasn't."

DeWitt followed Topher to the screen. The data was quite clear...to Topher. "Dreams. He was dreaming?"

"Nightmares, actually," Topher answered.

DeWitt shifted her weight. "What caused it?"

Topher returned his gaze to the screen once more. "Well I can't be entirely sure until I speak with the good Dr. Saunders."

"It's biological," DeWitt answered in concurrence.

"Right, but somehow it's messing with Gamma's brain, the imprint process," Topher said, half to himself. "I won't be able to imprint him."

DeWitt stole a look back at Gamma. He was a valuable asset to Dollhouse, trusted amongst the world's business elite.

"What about Echo," Dewitt asked in attempt to remove her focus from Gamma and face the greater issue.

"Echo? Echo's fine, she's unaffected."

Dewitt leveled her gaze on Topher, "She was out of her bed pod."

"Stress," Topher offered. "It's been a pretty long week for our little Echo. The imprints we've been using on her are....hefty stuff."

DeWitt always found she had problems around Topher. Problems...tolerating his impossibly casual attitude. She did her best to maintain her composure. "Will Echo be clear for engagements?"

"Sure," Topher said with a shrug. "Send her out. But let's try and keep her on a diet plan for the time being. Don't want her freaking on a high octane heist or something."

Topher looked back Echo, lying adjacent to Gamma. There was almost a sort of fondness in his eyes.

"Looks like its lover's lane for you," he told the incoherent Echo.

DeWitt arched an eyebrow, "Romantic engagements only?"

"That's not a problem, is it," Topher asked, afraid he had just broken some implicit protocol.

DeWitt pursed her lips," No."

She quickly gathered up her things and made for the door. "Keep Gamma quarantined. When Dr. Saunders arrives, brief her on the situation."

"Will do, ma'am," Topher said with a slight mock-salute.

"Inform Gamma's handler of this situation," she commanded Dominic as she exited the lab.

"And what about Echo," Dominic asked, rather stupidly for a man in his position.

DeWitt humored him nonetheless. "There's no change for the time being."

They walked in silence for a while as Dominic escorted her back to her office. When they had reached her door, Dominic spoke up once more.

"I don't think I need to remind you of our annual inspection."

"You do not," DeWitt said, annoyance lancing her voice.

"Ma'am, we can't afford a situation like this during inspection," he said levelly. "We should send Echo and Gamma to the Attic."

DeWitt gave a slightly wry smile at Dominic's provinciality. "Let's not be rash, Mr. Dominic." DeWitt carefully scanned Dominic for a moment. "You don't carry much affinity for Echo, do you?"

"We've seen her malfunction enough," Dominic defended. "That's cause enough for suspicion."

"No, Mr. Dominic, I think there's more to it," DeWitt said softly.

Dominic did not speak.

"She reminds you of Alpha," DeWitt answered for him.

He nodded.

DeWitt continued into her office. "Well, fear not, Mr. Dominic," she told him. "We learned a great deal from Alpha. We learned how to take care of our active better."

DeWitt was already closing her door by the time Dominic answered, but she undoubtedly heard him:

"Yeah, but we're still learning and he's still teaching."


	3. Diagnosis

Virus

Chapter 3: Diagnosis

Dr. Saunders works at diagnosing Gamma's affliction.

Disclaimer: Dollhouse isn't mine.....

* * *

It wasn't a normal day at the office, but then again, considering her line of work, no day could truly be considered "normal" for Dr. Claire Saunders since she first set foot on Dollhouse's premises. Claire had epitomized her stereotype in many ways. She was her high school's valedictorian, a graduate of a highly exclusive, 5-year medical program, and was qualified in more areas of medical study than was suggested by her title. Psychology, neurology, advanced biochemistry, as well as several more experimental methods of medicine. In truth, she had become the paragon Dollhouse employee before even knowing of its existence.

That was why they sought her out. They presented her with the façade that they were government related. She believed them. Most people thought they were government. Dollhouse in all its resources and revenue could easily dominate any government.

When Claire Saunders walked in the Dollhouse's central room, she knew things would never be the same. When she learned of their work, she was appalled: These people, these actives, they once had souls. Now they were empty shells. Claire couldn't imagine a more hellish treatment of human beings.

But she stayed.

And to this day, a part of her wondered why.

The moment she entered the elevator to descend into the covert underbelly that was called Dollhouse, she was escorted away by Mr. Dominic, Ms. DeWitt's chief of security.

"We had an incident this morning," Dominic explained. "Gamma, suffered some sort of psychotic breakdown."

"Gamma," Claire asked half to herself.

Mr. Dominic ignored her as he continued to escort her straight to her lab. "And another thing. Echo was out of her bed pod."

Claire had almost expected to hear of Echo, after all, the past weeks had been trying for her. The imprints used were high stress. But Gamma? Gamma was a "normal" active. There were no malfunctions on his track record and no engagements that presented a high risk.

Topher was already waiting for them when they arrived. Gamma was quite sedated, lying on the examination table. Claire dismissed Dominic quickly and went to work.

"What do we know," she asked Topher, already retrieving medical instruments for examining Gamma.

"Good morning to you, too, sunshine," Topher said with a sideways smile.

"Topher." She gave him a look, a look that showed she meant business.

"Right," He said answering the look. "Well we know it wasn't an imprint problem. Tests just confirmed that. The problem's in the plumbing."

"What about the anti-psychotics and relaxants in the bed pod," She asked as she took Gamma's blood pressure.

"All functioning within normal parameters," Topher answered. "Whatever is causing this is biological, though."

"You mean he's sick," Claire stated simply.

"Echo seems to think so," Topher said.

"Echo?"

Topher nodded. "She told Ms. DeWitt."

Claire reached for her stethoscope as she spoke. "Is Echo affected as well?"

"No, Echo's clean," Topher replied with a smile.

"The high stress imprints?"

He nodded.

* * *

"I don't think you understand, Ms. DeWitt," Mr. Ranse said, impatience creeping into his voice. "Andrew, your "Gamma", was decently acclimated to our…environment."

"I understand perfectly," DeWitt responded. "However, our actives are a delicate matter. We apologize for the inconvenience, but Andrew will not be able to complete your charge."

"Was he injured on the job," Ranse asked with a bit more sincerity.

"Rest assured, your competitors do not know of your dealings here, only you and I are completely aware of your situation," DeWitt said soothingly, and ignoring Mr. Ranse's question.

Mr. Ranse slid back into his seat on the couch, relieved to say the least.

DeWitt took a seat next to him. "Mr. Ranse, we can send a new active to complete Gamma's work. But if you are afraid it may raise suspicion –"

"No, that will be fine."

DeWitt let a curt smile return her face. "Excellent, I'll retrieve the proper paperwork."

* * *

"Hello, Echo," Claire said warmly as she welcomed Echo into her infirmary.

Echo was clearly confused. "Am I hurt?"

Claire smiled. "No, Echo, I wanted to speak with you."

Echo returned the smile and took a seat that Claire motioned to. Gamma had longs since been carried out of the lab, and for the moment, he was stable. Samples of his blood were taken and currently were undergoing an array of tests as she spoke with Echo. Progress was slow, but Claire was used to things running slow at the Dollhouse.

"Echo, do you like Gamma," Claire asked platonically.

"He's my friend," Echo responded. "He's sick, he hurts."

"Yes," Claire said with a nod. "But we're trying to help him get better. You can help us make him better."

"Alright," Echo said. "Besides, everyone should be their best."

Claire shuddered a bit at this statement from Echo. It was part of their baseline programming and behavioral modifications: the fervent desire to "be one's best."

Claire continued to the matter at hand. "Echo, this morning when Ms. DeWitt found Gamma, you were out of your bed pod."

"I couldn't sleep," Echo apologized. "Gamma was screaming and—"

"Its fine," Claire assured. "But when you were out, you told Ms. DeWitt something. Do you remember?"

Echo waited as if she didn't remember. "Yes," she finally said.

"You told Ms. DeWitt Gamma was sick," Claire continued. "How did you know?"

Echo looked directly at the floor and cocked her head to the side slightly, straining to find the answer. "I don't know."

Claire disappointedly looked down. "It's okay, Echo."

"But I don't want to scream, too," Echo quickly said, working herself up.

Claire put a hand on Echo's shoulder. "You won't Echo, you'll be fine."

Echo suddenly relaxed. "I think I'd like to swim in the pool now."

"Alright," Claire whispered warmly. Echo smiled as Claire removed her hand and went back to work on Gamma's blood toxicity scans.

* * *

Topher had a standby medical crew help to lower Gamma into the imprint chair. Though they were not imprinting him, a detailed scan of his brain would help in the process of fixing him.

The imprint chair began to softly hum as Topher brought it to life and began to tilt into a reclined position.

"Alright," he said after the chair locked in its position. He rubbed his hand together momentarily before continuing. "Okay, scan his brain, piece of cake."

* * *

When Echo left Dr. Saunders's lab she didn't go for a swim. The sudden urge to fulfill her daily quota of thirty laps had subsided.

"Hello, there," Sierra said as she saw Echo leave the lab.

"Hello," Echo answered, the last traces of her confusion fading away as she saw her friend.

"Want to get something to eat," She asked.

"That would be lovely," Echo responded.

When they reached the dining area, Victor was already seated, eating salad before him. Sierra and Echo cordially joined him. They spoke as vacant actives do, talking about how many laps in the pool they did or how they tried to make themselves better that day. Then there was silence.

"Do you like Gamma," Echo asked the group.

Sierra set down her fork. "He's our friend."

"Friends help each other," Echo said with a light smile.

"Of course," Victor said. "I would help you or Sierra if you were in trouble."

Sierra leaned in closer to Echo. "Is Gamma in trouble?"

Echo looked confused again. "I don't know. I think so."

Victor and Sierra stared intently on Echo, waiting for her to say something. Echo waited a moment before continuing. "I want to help him."

* * *

"So Echo's really alright," Boyd asked once more in clarification.

Dr. Saunders was the first one to have contact with Echo that morning, and when Boyd learned of the incident, he went straight to Saunders for information.

"Echo has been running some more…intense imprints," Claire explained. "It puts a decent amount of stress on her physiology. Ms. DeWitt has assured me she'll be running low risk engagements for awhile."

Claire had been paying half attention to Boyd. Gamma's blood work test results had just come out. The printout had lines of data over it which took a careful eye to analyze.

"Well that will be a change," Boyd stated. "It's been almost non-stop for a month now."

"Hence the shakedown time," Claire responded.

Claire's eyes ran over the printout, quickly skimming for anything that would pinpoint this "biological substance."

"What about Gamma," Boyd asked.

Claire continued to skim the printout as she responded, "Topher is performing a synaptic scan on him currently and until he's finished we –"

Claire froze.

"What is it?"

"Oh my God."

The printout slipped from Claire's hand and drifted to the floor.

Gamma was contagious.


	4. Christine

**

* * *

**

Virus

**Chapter 4:** Christine

_Gamma's mission is taken up by a new active as Dollhouse struggles with containment of the virus._

**DISCLAIMER:** nothing Dollhouse related belongs to me....dang.

* * *

DeWitt lowered the teapot once more for "Christine Michaels", "Andrew Lowe's", Gamma's, replacement.

"As you well know," DeWitt continued, "Mr. Ranse is a very private man. This entire affair must be completed with utmost discretion."

"Discretion's my middle name," Christine said with a smirk.

DeWitt returned the smile as she slid a manila folder across the table. "These are your predecessor's findings. Obviously, there will be discrepancies between what Mr. Ranse tells you and what's in here. Mr. Lowe was good at his work. He knew his friends and his enemies equally as well."

Christine began to flip through the folder's contents.

"As you will see, Mr. Ranse's primary interest is the robotics chip," DeWitt narrated as Christine flipped through the floor plans, schematics, and other various documents. "The chip itself is not to be touched, Mr. Ranse's orders. His company desires all schematics and technical data on the chip."

"He wants to build one himself," Christine concluded.

"It appears that way," DeWitt nodded. "It would appear…suspicious if his competitor's robotics chip went missing his company suddenly developed the technology."

"Get in, download the junk, and don't snag the goody."

DeWitt smiled. "I believe we have our bases covered."

"And payment," Christine asked with an arched eyebrow.

"Of course my firm as well as Mr. Ranse will compensate you for your services," DeWitt admonished with a smile.

"Then we're good," Christine said as she extended her hand to DeWitt. DeWitt shook her hand, securing the "business transaction."

"We'll be in touch," DeWitt said as Christine made her way for the door.

Christine…Echo nodded, and slipped out of the office, Boyd close behind her.

* * *

"Restrain him," a tech was calling above the din. Topher's crew was no more than five minutes into the test on Gamma before he reacted again. There was no explanation for it. The test they were doing was like taking a picture of his brain, granted a very complex picture, but Gamma was exposed to little to no stimulus. His reaction was not provoked by Topher's test.

The medical crew was doing it's best to restrain him so that he could be sedated.

"What the hell is going on," another tech asked Topher as they plunged a needle into his arm.

Before Topher could even answer, someone answered for him.

"He's sick."

It was Dr. Saunders, who had appeared in the doorway, a half crumpled paper in hand, breathing heavily.

* * *

"It's a virus," Claire began to explain "and it's highly contagious."

It hadn't been long since Gamma's last episode in lab. DeWitt had called Topher and Dr. Saunders to brief her on the situation. After a shockingly in-depth description of Gamma's episode from Topher, Claire presented her finding.

"The compound itself seems to be particularly engineered to target the brain of an active, so for the moment our staff should be safe," Claire continued.

"Engineered," Topher asked.

"The compound is synthetic," Claire specified. "And of indeterminate origin."

"So he's sick, he's gonna spread it, and we don't know where it came from," Dominic stated plainly. He had been lurking behind DeWitt as he tended to do and Claire had almost forgotten he was in the room.

"It's likely he already has spread it," Claire released. "We have no idea when he contracted this virus or how."

DeWitt looked particularly concerned. "What about containment?"

"Well first off we'll need to screen every active here," Claire stated resolutely.

"Do you know how long that could take," Dominic cut in as he ran his hand coarsely through his hair. "And not to mention the actives on engagements –"

"Seal it, Mr. Dominic," DeWitt shot. She returned her focus to Dr. Saunders. "We follow Dr. Saunders's advice. When the actives currently on engagements return, we'll quarantine them immediately."

"W-Wait," Topher spoke up. "What about Echo? She was exposed to Gamma for—"

DeWitt cast him a look. "Echo is on an engagement. Gamma's engagement."

"And what about the romantic engagements versus high stress imprints," Topher said, frustration entering his tone. "Gamma's imprint isn't exactly fluffy pillows."

"Concern noted, Mr. Brink," DeWitt dismissed. "Now if you're quite finished, perhaps your energies would be better directed toward assisting Dr. Saunders."

An awkward silence ensued as Topher accepted his superior's words with quiet resignation.

"Alert the Handlers to the situation," DeWitt commanded Dominic as she moved her desk. "We got a hell of a job before us."

* * *

An "Oh my God, you look spectacular," greeted Christine as she entered Mr. Ranse's office. Needless to say, Ranse had a propensity to become charismatic around beautiful women.

"Thank you for that astute assessment, Mr. Ranse," Christine answered as she straightened her dark rimmed glasses and adjusted jacket. "Mr. Ranse, I'd like you to meet my associate, Mr. Langton."

Boyd stepped forward and platonically shook Ranse's hand.

"Please take a seat," Ranse motioned.

Mr. Ranse's office was the pinnacle of modern décor: sleek black leather upholstery, metallic flooring and furnishings, even a glass desk. Ranse escorted his guests to a sitting area.

"Let me begin by offering my employer's condolences concerning my predecessor," Christine stated.

Ranse gave a cordial smile, "Oh…well, no worry, it's just, when I spoke to your employer…well you weren't exactly what I had in mind."

Christine returned the smile, "I understand. The movies, they give a horrible depiction of my line of work. My job is terribly un-glamorous."

"I see," Ranse nodded.

"Now as for the robotics chip," Boyd said in attempt to steer the conversation away from "Christine's" appearance.

"Yes, yes," Ranse said, reaching for a cardstock folder. He was about to hand the folder to Christine when he stopped once more. "I'm sorry, you are just so stunning."

Christine strained a giggle as she shot a look of agony towards Boyd.

* * *

"My God, that was painful," Christine let out as she slid into the black van. Boyd followed her in and slid the door shut.

"Are you sure that the job wasn't to pry this file from his grubby paws," she continued.

"Positive," Boyd said with a laugh.

Christine began to let down her hair as the van set into motion. "I mean, anymore groveling and drooling we would have drowned in his saliva."

Boyd chuckled at the mental picture Echo had just created before getting on to business. "We have everything we need then."

Christine tossed the file to Boyd as she pulled out a small mirror and a darker shade of lipstick. "Access codes and the like…Should be a piece of cake," she added after she snapped her mirror closed.

"I'm curious," Boyd spoke up. "What was with the reserved girl thing?"

Christine gave a sideways smile. "Rule number one: Never let your employers know who you really are."

Boyd chuckled, half at the irony of what she just said. "I thought rule number one was never get caught."

"That's rule number five," Christine corrected, "which leads to rule number six: in the case that you do get caught, use your obvious feminine charm to pull yourself out of the sitch. And if that fails, then you're routed back to rule number two which is if all else fails, then kick ass."

Boyd gave a faint smile. He had often wondered why all the actives' imprints were so full of character.

"They're a step above walking vegetables," Topher had told him when he asked. "Gotta…you know…spice 'em up a bit. A dash of mystery, a pinch of raw sex appeal, or sprinkling of cluelessness. Or maybe you're the type of guy the like innocence piled all on top."

There was certainly never a dull day with Echo. But that wasn't necessarily a good thing: after all, these people, these actives were stripped of their identities. He had been told that they signed up for this, but could he truly trust the word of the organization that performed these deeds.

It was a conundrum he had faced since his arrival in Dollhouse.

* * *

The line of actives at Dr. Saunders's lab had quickly spiraled into a line like that of a theme park attraction. The line went this way and that all throughout Dollhouse's central area before ending in the lab. It was a long and arduous process since blood work had to be taken, processed, and tested. In addition to each biological test, each active had to be cleared by Topher's synaptic scan.

In all, the actives were cooperative. They were programmed to be. It was the Handlers who tended to be the problem and many of them had to be escorted away for creating disturbances. Tensions were high. Who could blame them?

"He's clear," Claire told Sigma's Handler. "Take him up to the imprint lab."

The Handler responded with a nod and swept his active away. The next active was already brought in before Claire even had a chance to breathe.

* * *

"I understand, sir," DeWitt replied neutrally, "but your inspection now would be quite ineffectual."

Her superior on the other end of the phone spoke with short precise phrases that Dominic could not catch. The volume on the phone was up enough that he could hear the voice on the other end but not was being said. However, he could perceive from the voice's tone that DeWitt's superiors were not pleased.

"To be perfectly frank, we're dealing with a crisis," she said after her superior spoke.

Her superior talked for a long while now. Dominic followed DeWitt with his eyes as she paced about her office. After a good deal of time, DeWitt responded, "Understood. Thank you, sir."

She hung up and tossed her cell phone onto her desk. "Inspection has been moved until we're functioning within normal parameters."

"That could be never, the rate we're going," Dominic stated glumly.

"I'm aware," DeWitt said with a sigh. "What is the total count of the infected?"

Dominic let his eye's drop to the floor. "Eleven."

"And how many more actives do we have to screen," DeWitt asked.

Dominic returned his gaze to his superior; giving her a look that asked her if that was a rhetorical question and also insinuated there were many more actives to be screened.

DeWitt picked up on his implicit statement and remained silent. "We won't be able to hold the infected here if their numbers continue to rise."

"The current containment area is filling up fast," Dominic concurred.

DeWitt considered the variables for the moment.

"Mr. Dominic, assemble a crew," DeWitt commanded. "We need to convert the Attic to a quarantine area."

Dominic went wide-eyed at her command for a moment before he complied and left the office.

* * *

"Am I hurt," Sierra asked innocently.

Claire shook her head. "No, Sierra, we're trying to keep everyone well here. This may pinch a bit."

Sierra remained the same as Claire drew blood from her.

"We're all afraid," Sierra said motioning to the line of actives behind her, "We don't want to be sick."

"I know," Claire said with a slight smile.

"It's just that –"

Sierra stopped, her gaze fixated at the ground

"Sierra?"

Sierra collapsed to the floor, clutching her head as Gamma did. Her harrowing cries reverberated throughout the central area.

"Get her out of here! Quick," Claire commanded a medical crew. They immediately sprang into action. Sierra began thrashing about as she they scooper her up, making it quite difficult to control her.

_This is a mess_, Claire thought.

She looked out the window to see Victor and his Handler.

"What's wrong with her," Victor asked.

"Victor, calm down, it will be alright," his Handler said soothingly.

Victor wouldn't accept that, "No! Where are they taking her?"

His Handler placed his hands on Victor's shoulders."Victor."

Sierra's thrashing form was being carried up the staircase to the quarantine area as Victor began to cry out to her, but it was no use.

Sierra and eleven other actives were gone.


	5. Control

**VIRUS**

**Chapter 5:** Control

_Christine begins her heist as Dollhouse contemplates their next move._

**Disclaimer: **insert ususal disclaimer here

* * *

Christine slipped on her heels as the van door slid open, revealing the sprawling building that she was to infiltrate. A glass wall made up its front, the company's logo adorning its face in simple modern style.

"Not bad," Christine remarked.

"Plenty of ground to cover here," Boyd remarked as well.

Christine directed her attention to her purse in the corner of the van. "Hey can you hand me that?"

Boyd nonchalantly tossed the purse to Christine, who gave a slightly wry smile.

"Careful," she said as she caught her purse. "There's stuff in there that goes boom boom."

Boyd moved onto the issue at hand. "What about extraction?"

"The chip is on the south side of the building," Christine stated. "And according to Mr. Lowe's research, so should the schematics." It wasn't really an answer, Christine realized. She waved her phone slightly at Boyd. "We'll be in touch."

* * *

DeWitt shook the bourbon around in its glass as she stared aimlessly into the night city skyline. The actives had been screened for the virus, but now the real work came: amending the situation.

Dominic brusquely entered behind her.

"What's the count of the infected at," she asked in near monotone.

"Eighteen."

DeWitt cringed. Eighteen actives out of commission for the time being. That was more than half of their active force. Active use was going to be at a premium, which could only lead to more stress on the actives.

"Get Topher," DeWitt commanded.

"Ma'am, we're debilitated right now," Dominic spoke out of turn. "If I may suggest—"

"You may not," Dewitt cut off. "In typical boorish fashion, you would suggest that we shut down until we can fully rehabilitate. This Dollhouse is at a crucial moment Mr. Dominic. If we cease to function, we cease to be. Weeks ago we dealt with another debilitating disaster concerning a biological compound. Not only that, we've been having problems with our actives, straying on engagements."

"Echo," Dominic requited.

"My superiors are beginning to lose faith in this Dollhouse," DeWitt released. "Who can blame them? If I were in their positions, I'd feel quite the same. Alpha, Echo, and now this virus. We are an increasingly less dependably vessel. This has gone beyond worrying for our job securities Mr. Dominic. We possess a powerful technology, and we're losing our grip on it."

Dominic moved toward the door. DeWitt took a moment to compile some semblance of composure. "The Attic, Mr. Dominic," DeWitt began. "I trust you had no problems. The quarantine area is secure."

"Yes ma'am."

DeWitt returned to her bourbon. "Get Topher and Saunders up here immediately."

* * *

Christine's access card illuminated an affirmative light on the door handle.

"Easy-Peasy," She said, letting herself through the heavy door. It closed behind her with a resounding thud that echoed down the white tile hallway before her.

Navigating this corporate building was quite easy. Her predecessor had laid everything out so easily, the job could practically so itself. Alright, it couldn't actually do it itself, but even burger flipper could make sense of all the schematics and codes.

Still Christine offered something that any burger flipper couldn't: respectability and reputation. That and a killer body to boot.

At the end of the hall was the room she needed to find. It was a research and development archival area which contained everything on the robotics chip Ranse would need.

"Once again, easy-peasy," Christine said to no one and she made her way down the room.

* * *

"So far, the virus is contained," Claire stated. "Healing them is another matter."

"Why is that," DeWitt asked curtly.

"It's literally a virus," Topher spoke up. "Like the flu. You get sick, go home, pukey-pukey for a day, and then you're done. You can take a Tylenol to make you feel better, but you're treating the symptom, not the virus."

"He's right," Claire added. "We can confine them and sedate them, but there's little we can do to actually treat them."

DeWitt let herself into her chair. "So we let the virus run its course? How long before actives are relieved of their symptoms?"

Claire looked to Topher anxiously, and he did the same. Topher spoke up, "Well you see it's all a matter of—"

"How long," DeWitt asked with deep insistence.

"Two weeks at the earliest," Topher replied sullenly.

DeWitt heavily sighed.

"Any idea who would do this," Topher asked as a means to help the situation.

"Someone with intimate knowledge of the Dollhouse," Claire responded for DeWitt. "This virus only affects the actives. Someone would have to have intimate knowledge of the actives and the imprint process."

DeWitt leaned in closer. "Are you suggesting there's a mole within the Dollhouse?"

"Who would have access to that information," Claire asked.

"Rossum, you, Topher, the list goes on," DeWitt listed, "and that's just for this Dollhouse. We could be dealing with something spanning across multiple agencies."

Dominic entered, a file in his hand. "This is Gamma's imprint and engagement history."

DeWitt fixed her posture. "Good. Let's see it."

Dominic popped a disk into the large display screen in DeWitt's office. Immediately, Gamma's profile illuminated the screen along with a list of dates – his engagements.

"Start with Gamma's work on the Freemont College incident and then work our way towards his work with the Ranse engagement," DeWitt ordered. "Someone afflicted Gamma with this virus and I would very much like to find out whom."


	6. Extraction

**Virus**

**Chapter 6:** Extraction

_Christine's engagement doesn't quite go as planned._

**DISCLAIMER: **Do I really need to insert the same drabbley disclaimer every time? Well at any rate, Dollhouse belongs to Joss Whedon and others (probably).

* * *

The archival room was easy enough to navigate. A corporate institution like the one Christine was currently infiltrating would of course have every file neatly sorted into its respective place with a flag that could nearly say "here's the sensitive files you need to steal."

Christine removed the contents of the file on the robotics chip: a simple data disk. Luckily, as experience had told her, the files on that disk would be encrypted. Most disks like this had a sister primer disk that would contained the proper decryption sequence that would be most valuable to Mr. Ranse's firm. Christine would have to retrieve this disk as well.

Christine slid the data disk into her purse. Likely there was a primer disk in a nearby office or research area.

Christine crossed the threshold of the door, and to her chagrin, the security alarms began to blaze.

Damn it was tagged, she thought.

Immediately, Christine began to construct a mental map of the entire complex. Security forces would undoubtedly be surrounding her even now. It was only a matter of time.

And there was also the primer disk, she would need to snag one while making a speedy escape.

"Hey, you!"

The shout came from a typically boorish security guard who had just rounded the corner.

Christine's turned on rule number six mode. She quickly ran as close as she safely could to him with a diminutive movement of her arms which was indeed quite feminine. "Help, he ran that way!"

The guard shook his head, not quite as boorish as he initially seemed.

Christine replied with a reproachful frown. A moment later the man was on the floor, his wrist snapped and his taser in Christine's hand.

"Rule number two, my friend," She replied, and sharply offered fifty thousand volts to him.

* * *

"It's contained then," Boyd asked.

"For the moment," DeWitt responded over the phone. "We'll need to screen Echo when she returns."

"Understood."

"Good," DeWitt answered. "I will also require your assistance on another matter, Mr. Langton."

Boyd shrugged. "Alright."

"It concerns Gamma's relationship with Mr. Ranse," DeWitt said through a sigh.

"You suspect foul play?"

"I hope not, for Mr. Ranse's sake," DeWitt said. "His firm does possess the resources to disseminate a virus that targets actives." DeWitt paused. "Look into it for me."

"Will do, ma'am," Boyd answered. No more than a second after he hung up on DeWitt, his phone began to ring again. Echo's voice was on the line.

"Look I can understand if that was the Mrs. telling you to pick up milk and eggs on the way home, but I'm in a particularly pressing need for extraction."

* * *

"Where are you?"

"South side, working my way to the east wing of the building," Christine answered.

"You'll have a pick up waiting on the east exit," Boyd said. She could already hear him shuffling over the phone to start the van.

"Hurry, my cover's been breached." With that she hung up the phone and ran for the nearest office she could find.

Ease and stealth were no longer issues. Christine routed through every drawer, file cabinet, and bookshelf in that office until she found the disk she needed, leaving the office floor covered with a coating of papers and upturned chairs and décor.

A set of guards were making themselves down the adjoining hallway, voices blaring.

"Intruder is still within the south wing!"

"The prototype chip cannot be stolen," a tech was shouting after the guards.

After they were a safe distance from the office Christine had just torn through, she made her way in the opposite direction.

Someone had taken advantage of her disturbance to steal the robotics chip. Someone knew about her job.

Now wasn't the time to speculate about this or that, she reminded herself. Now was the time for running fast. Very fast.

The east wing of the building was laid out much the same as the south wing. Though Christine hadn't been this way on her way in, it wouldn't be too difficult to navigate her way out.

The main lobby of the east wing was now in site, another glass façade at its front.

"Freeze!"

Christine reflexively stopped. A detachment of guards had been waiting at the exit.

"Damn. I should have expected that one," she told them. The guards began to inch closer as Christine placed her hands on her head. A lead guard moved closest and took a hold of her forearm.

Christine's smirk should have been enough of a clue. She whipped his arm around and threw the bulkier man in front of her as a second guard shot his taser, the prongs landing firmly in her human shield and loading him with a couple thousand volts. Christine hefted the tasered guard off of her and into the taser wielding guard, and a spinning kick to the third guard's head was enough to disable the east wing security force.

Christine waited a moment to catch her breath.

A sound began to echo off the glass and throughout the lobby. It was vaguely organic and occurring at regular intervals. It took Christine a moment to realize it was clapping.

Christine whipped herself around to its source: a wiry-built, light haired man. A smile was on his face, nearly ear to ear, which greatly juxtaposed his dark garb: Dark spandex material top, black cargo bottoms, and a belt with all sorts of nifty tools that screamed "I'm a high class thief."

"Bravo," he said oddly, continuing to applaud. "I have to admit, that was an impressive display."

"Who are you," Christine snapped quickly.

"Ah, no one in particular," he said with a dismissive wave of his hand.

It didn't take Christine long to put two and two together. "You stole the robotics chip."

"I did," he admitted with a frown. "But I have to say it was so easy. You left the doors wide open for me. Okay, well not literally, but you get the picture. What? Did they forget to imprint you with skills to cover your tracks?"

"What are you talking about," Christine asked, annoyance lacing her tone.

"Oh that's right," he said to himself, clapping his hand to his forehead. "You don't know. Well at least _you _don't know, but the other you is learning."

"Listen pal," Christine began as she inched herself closer, "I got exactly no time for games, and that chip isn't leaving here. That's part of the deal. Surely you know what I'm talking about? Who are you working for?"

"I'm working for me," he smiled. "I follow you in and get the robotics chip. That's my deal. Funny how both of our deals are working out though considering they think it's you who stole the chip in the first place."

The sound of prattle of guards began to spill down into the lobby.

"Not much time now," he glanced up at the lobby's entrance. "And you better get out of here if you hope to salvage any of your engagement at all."

Christine hesitated a moment. This man was nuts, spewing gobbledy gook phrases that made little sense.

But that moment quickly passed. Boyd's van rounded the corner and stopped, the side door flung open.

The man gave an almost pleading look. "Go!"

Christine obeyed, but not on his accord, but on accord of the six guards who had just appeared in the lobby.

"This isn't over," she sneered as she ran out into the van.

"I know," he said and he repeated it once more even though she was not present to hear it.

* * *

"Echo botched the job," Dominic stated plainly.

DeWitt released a sigh. "Wouldn't your energies be better directed towards aiding Topher and Doctor Saunders?"

"Echo botched the Ranse engagement and you're hardly blinking an eye?"

"And what do you want me to tell you," DeWitt snapped. "That Echo is a threat to this Dollhouse and that we should send her to the Attic? Is that what you want to hear?"

Dominic moved in closer. "This isn't the first time you've seen something like this. Alpha was the same way before—"

"Mr. Dominic, if you hadn't realized, it is very likely Mr. Ranse was involved with the events the lead to a debilitating virus that has crippled us," DeWitt responded bitterly. "Do you think I bloody give a damn that his engagement got botched?"

Dominic stayed silent.

"Even if Echo's mistake was her fault, her genuine failure to complete her charge successfully, is that really grounds to shelf her," DeWitt asked him, her tone cooling only slightly. Dominic did not respond. "Echo is now a vital part of our Dollhouse's survival. We have less than half of the actives available for our use and nothing we can do to amend that fact. But that's not going to stop the engagements. The rich will still be lonely and the powerful will continue to seek more power. That is the nature of our work and it never stops: not for a virus and not for Echo."

_It didn't for Alpha either_, DeWitt thought.

DeWitt took a breath to calm herself down.

"Get back to work, Mr. Dominic," DeWitt dismissed him flatly.


	7. Fated

**Virus**

**Chapter 7: Fated**

_Christine returns from her engagement while the Dollhouse coordinates a retaliation againsts the virus._

**_DISCLAIMER: _**Again. It isn't mine. It's Joss Whedon's, Mutant Enemy or what not....

_

* * *

_

"I mean, seriously," Christine continued to say. "Your people should really look into this. My performance was flawless. The intel. I had left more to be desired."

Boyd gave a slight smile.

"You know, after my treatment, I'd like to go back and personally kick that guy's ass," she said. "He had that face that looked so punchable, like you could just so easily jam your knuckles under his chin. You do know what I'm talking about?"

"I can sympathize," Boyd said blandly. He felt a similar feeling whenever he saw Topher.

Christine grinned. "You're a fun one Boyd, which makes me think all those stiff-lips you work for must hate you."

"Something like that," he said dismissively.

Christine waited a moment before speaking. "Boyd, we're not in normal occupations."

"We are not," Boyd agreed.

"And because of that," Christine continued, "Do you ever think about what life would be like if we were paper pushing in an office somewhere?"

Boyd knew exactly what she was talking about. Before his arrival a Dollhouse, he had a normal life. He was a police officer, and not the glamorous T.V. cop, busting drug rings and bringing murderers to justice. He was the normal cop; the traffic violations and speeding tickets police officer. Life without knowledge of the Dollhouse was simpler and easier, and a hope for such a life now was laughable.

Boyd looked to Christine and answered her question with another question: "Do you?"

"Sometimes," Christine admitted. "Kind of silly, right? I mean, here I am, living this life, and I wonder what it would be like to be different. To be baking cookies for the kids and their friends or to hold parties for the people on the block, to have friends, hell, maybe even a husband."

Christine hesitated and swallowed.

"I feel like a character in some Greek play," Christine said. "No matter what I do, no matter what I try, I'm fated for the life I'm living. It's like having someone guiding your life in this cruel game and you can't even hate them for doing it."

Boyd wished he knew what to say. If it were anyone else he was talking to he could say "no it's not like that", but if he told Christine…Echo that, it would be a lie. It was the irony of his position as a handler; the title of handler suggested that he cared for and maintained the well being of the one he handled. What he did was nearly the opposite.

"God, listen to me," Christine said, and if Boyd wasn't mistaken, as she wiped a tear away. "I've really only just met you, and yet I'm opening up like this."

"Its fine," Boyd answered soothingly. "To be honest…I feel as if we've met before."

"I do too," Christine responded. "Ever since I first saw you, it was odd, but I felt like I knew you, like I could trust you. That really isn't an easy thing to gain from me, and yet you got it without even trying." She paused. "Have we met? Before this?"

Boyd gave a slight frown, again unsure of what to say or do. "Maybe in another life," he at last said.

"Maybe," Christine concurred softly.

* * *

"The Emerson case still shows Gamma functioning normally," Topher said as he put the file to the desk.

"And nothing abnormal is on the medical report either," Claire added. She glanced back at Topher, "Dead end?"

Topher nodded a sunk into the chair in front of Claire's desk. "So what do we tell DeWitt? The virus just fell out of the sky?"

Claire restrained herself from smirking at Topher's petulant remark and proceeded to sit at her desk opposite to him. "There is one file we haven't checked yet," Claire said.

Topher looked confused. "There aren't any files in his file to check still."

"That's because the engagement hasn't been completed yet," Claire told him.

The light bulb lit up in Topher's head. "The Ranse engagement."

Claire nodded.

* * *

"I want to know everything that happened," DeWitt demanded.

Christine was already changing behind a screen as she spoke, "Simple. Someone snagged the robotics chip as I was grabbing the technical specifications. The thief, or should I say the other thief, set off the security systems at the same time I made out with the document. Having reason to believe that I was the one that set off the alarms, I acted appropriately."

"She resorted to tactical measures," Boyd specified for DeWitt.

"More or less," Christine said as she slid on a soft cotton tank. "Though a coldly anatomical description, Boyd. I'd say it I 'kicked ass with finesse.'"

"It does have a certain ring to it," DeWitt replied sarcastically. "The thief? You said you ran into him."

"Yeah, I did," Christine said as she emerged from the screen. "Pretty unremarkable guy though. Average height, average build, wore black like most thieves do. Not much I can offer you there. Look, Ms. DeWitt," Christine said pointedly, "about payment. I'm still getting paid, right? I mean it was your intel. that mangled the job, nothing to do with me—"

"Of course," DeWitt smiled curtly, "You will be rendered payment for your services. Would you like your treatment now?"

Christine shrugged. "Sooner better than later."

"Very well," DeWitt said, "Mr. Langton, please escort Miss Michaels to her treatment."

Boyd complied and took Echo away. Dominic had been waiting outside the door and slipped in once the Handler and his doll exited.

"What are we thinking," he asked DeWitt neutrally.

DeWitt joined him at the door. "We assume nothing. Though the chip has been stolen, the schematics that 'Christine' retrieved may still be of use to Mr. Ranse's firm."

"That's unlikely," Dominic replied. "With the chip stolen, Ranse would come under suspicion for creating his own. Wasn't that a part of the original deal?"

"And are you really so sure you want to help him," a voice added.

It was Topher's. He and Dr. Saunders had just crested the staircase up to the imprint lab where Dominic and DeWitt had been conversing. Saunders was holding a file in hand.

* * *

A moment later, the four had reconvened in DeWitt's office.

"Whatever happened to Gamma happened during the Ranse engagement," Claire said as she laid out a file.

"What of Gamma's handler," DeWitt asked impatiently. "We should have known about this."

Topher gave a quick glance to the floor before answering hesitantly, "Well not necessarily."

All eyes went to Topher.

Topher gave a nervous laugh. "Well sometimes an active gets into a groove, you know? And a spy active, like Gamma was….when a spy active gets into the groove the handler has to keep his distance. The spy types you know….traditionally work alone."

"You signed off on Gamma? Blank gaps," DeWitt demanded.

"Blank gaps?" Dominic asked.

"Periods of non-observation," Claire answered.

"Hey, hey," Topher defended. "It was standard procedure!"

"Enough," DeWitt interceded. "Do we suspect foul play from Mr. Ranse's point?"

Dominic took a hold of the file and skimmed it as he spoke, "I wouldn't see why not. Ranse's firm has had its eyes on Rossum Technology for quite some time."

DeWitt returned to her desk. "We have offered our services to corporate enemies of our subsidizer before. Ranse checked out on background checks."

"Mostly," Dominic said, stopping at a page. "Here it shows Ranse as having an unusual interest in biological areas, especially…well our area of expertise. Odd for a software company. "

DeWitt put her head in her palms. "Damn."

"It was a minor flag," Dominic continued, "and his fare was adjusted consequently."

Topher jumped from his seat. "See! Not my fault!"

DeWitt rose from her desk, a renewed intensity in her eyes. "Topher, activate Tango and Victor."

She turned her gaze to the L.A. skyline. "We're going to pay Mr. Ranse a little visit."


	8. Potential

**VIRUS**

**Chapter 8: Potential**

_DeWitt confronts Ranse about the virus while a startling revelation is made._

**DISCLAIMER: **Again...not mine

**AUTHOR'S NOTE: **I know it's been awhile since i posted anything. For that, i apologize, it's been a wild last couple months. If you've been following this story for awhile now, I suggest rereading the last couple chapters to get caught up witht the story. Honestly, that's what I did. Thanks for reading!

* * *

The sound of soft footsteps echoing off the walls accompanied Mr. Ranse as he entered the dimly lit executive floor of his office building. Ranse often found himself here, at this early hour, finding some excuse to work on something, but the best part of his early morning work habits was seeing the sunrise over the Los Angeles cityscape from the top floor of his building, the best view in the city.

Ranse rounded the corner to his office, his key already in hand. He stopped: his office door was cracked open.

"Come in Mr. Ranse," a cool voice commanded him from beyond the door. He complied, finding his office as dark as the night outside. As he entered the door was closed behind him, a suit clad figure at both sides: one an icy blond woman and the other a dark, foreign-looking man. A small light clicked at his desk, offering minimal illumination. DeWitt was seated at his desk, and her security agent, Dominic at her side.

"Somewhat odd to be invited into my own office," Ranse remarked, placing his briefcase aside.

"An invitation implies courtesy where there is none, Mr. Ranse," DeWitt responded. Her eyes flicked to the blond agent who stepped forward and slapped a file onto the desk. "Open it," DeWitt commanded.

Ranse did as he was told. Inside lay photos of himself, low resolution in some case, each slightly obscured by something; a car in most cases. The photos each had something else in common: Andrew. Well, Gamma, the previous active on his case.

"What is the meaning of this," Ranse asked indignantly.

"Why don't you tell us," Dominic spat back.

DeWitt gave an icy glance to both men. Then to Mr. Ranse, "How did you do it? The virus?"

Ranse gave a half chuckle and closed the file, "It wasn't especially hard. Every one of your so-called dolls has a small part missing from their minds. It's like a keyhole and without the key. Usually your imprints fill this hole. Turns out that's the best place to administer a virus."

"Why," DeWitt shrugged. "You could paid for our services, stolen the technical specifications for the robotics chip, and give a few weeks, your company's stock would have tripled. The price you paid for our services would be insignificant in comparison to your possible revenue."

Ranse chuckled once more, "It's not about the money. It's about the technology. Your technology. Think of the possibilities, DeWitt. Whores and spies? You've barely scratched to potential of the technology you possess."

"And you wanted to harness that potential," DeWitt asked

"Absolutely," Ranse glowered. "Think about it! We could implant the psyches, the souls, of the dying into new, young bodies. We could even sustain the greatest minds of our generation for the next generation to come. Think of the world we could have, all because of the Dollhouse's technology. Death, disease, poverty, maybe even war will be things of the past."

"Enough," DeWitt snapped. She narrowed her gaze on Ranse. "Do you really think you're the first megalomaniac to grow envious eyes over our technology?"

"No," Ranse replied with a smile, "and I likely will not be the last."

"There you are right," DeWitt said. She moved her gaze to the two austere agents in the back of the office "Victor, Tango, restrain him." Then to Dominic, "Alert Topher of our situation. Tell him to prep the imprint chair for sending Mr. Ranse to the Attic."

"The attic," Ranse managed to ask while resisting his captors, "What's the attic?"

Dominic took special satisfaction in this part. He moved himself closer, his frame intimidatingly close to Ranse. "You know that feeling you get when you're trying to remember something," He asked, "and it's just on the tip of your tongue, but you still can't remember? In the Attic, it's like that, all the time with everything."

Ranse stopped resisting for a moment. "People are going to ask about me. They'll know something's up if a major CEO like me goes missing."

"We understand that," DeWitt responded. "But that's why when your company calls, you'll tell them that you're doing perfectly fine and will be conducting all your affairs now from your now permanent vacation home in Tahiti. You'll also emphasize how you have become very private in your old age and wish not to be disturbed unless absolutely necessary."

Ranse could begin to feel his head spiral. He knew all too well what DeWitt was talking about. He couldn't even muster a response to her words.

"Take him away," DeWitt commanded her actives. As they did, she turned to Dominic who had just gotten off the phone with Topher. "That went well."

Dominic nodded, "Your job's becoming increasingly more complicated, Ms. DeWitt."

DeWitt shrugged as she too began to leave the office. Dominic was lock step behind her. "If I was looking for an uncomplicated profession," she said, "I would have opened a bed and breakfast in the Adirondacks a long time ago."

* * *

The thief twiddled the robotics chip between his fingers one last time before setting into place on the apparatus. A couple moments later, the chip was secure, and his project was complete. Of course he had already used it before completion; that was a risk he was willing to take, but to the best of his knowledge, everything was going well.

An affirmative tone rang from the computer, beckoning the thief to the screen. Instantly the screen flooded with data, most of it in binary, but his eyes instantly translated. The report: Success.

It was highly chancy of him to use his imprint chair before it was completed. After all, he could unintentionally fry the occupant's brains out, but in the case of Mr. Ranse, it worked perfectly. His active performed without error when being questioned by DeWitt, and now that they had put Mr. Ranse in the Attic, his secondary programming would be activated. While Mr. Ranse lay in what the Dollhouse affectionately referred to as "torment", his mind would be hooked up to their computers. Essentially, Mr. Ranse would be his eyes within the Dollhouse.

The thief looked affectionately back to his newly completed imprint chair and then to the rather hopeless looking man who was bound and gagged, huddled in a corner. The thief chose not to waste words, this time. He simply hefted to pathetic victim into the chair, who immediately began screaming, crying, and the thief's personal favorite, begging for his life.

"Easy now," the thief said as a quasi-means-of-cajoling, "I just want to see if this works. We I mean, it already kinda does but, you know, you can never be too sure."

The thief began to attach electrodes to the man's skull. For a few minutes, the hostage cried, and whimpered and what not, but it was all futile. The thief punched the enter key on the computer and the lights began to flicker. The man thrashed and seized in the imprint chair. The amount of electricity passing through that man's skull was undoubtedly unpleasant. A moment later that man was gone. The thief inched his way over to the steaming and smoldering body on the chair. The thief poked the body a couple time, but there was no response and no pulse.

"Oops," the thief uttered. "We'll have to fix that."

But fixing the chair could wait. Right now it was time to put that damn FBI agent back on track.


	9. Wants

**VIRUS**

**Chapter 9 - Wants**

_DeWitt reunites with an old friend as Echo and Victor form a plan._

**DISCLAIMER: Dollhouse belongs to Joss Whedon, Mutant Enemy, etc.**

* * *

Adelle DeWitt let her head slump into her palms. It had been a taxing three weeks at the Dollhouse since the Ranse incident. With more than half of the array of actives out due to the virus, and a nearly constant flow of engagements, the unaffected actives were constantly booked to this engagement or that. This was especially the case with Echo, who was accidentally double booked more than once, which is not exactly a pleasant occurrence within the Dollhouse.

During this time, Echo quickly climbed the ranks, becoming one of the most requested available actives, and consequently her schedule became cramped. By morning Echo could play the midwife, by nightfall, a courtesan.

"In the chair, out of the chair. It's like musical chairs, actually, except someone keeps pressing stop…oh right that would be me," Topher often joked.

What was more startling was the virus itself. Doctor Saunders's initial findings appeared to indicate the virus would be fended off by the actives' bodies, like the common cold. However, this was not the case.

Dominic entered brusquely as he often did. DeWitt quickly composed herself.

"What do we have," she said with renewed authority.

"Nothing new on the virus," Dominic began," though that's to be expected. Engagement schedules are cramped, though that is also to be expected."

DeWitt's eye's flicked in annoyance. "Anything worth telling me?"

Dominic glanced to the floor. DeWitt narrowed her eyes on Dominic, waiting expectantly for an answer.

"Get out," she commanded icily. He complied as she returned to her desk, and a hefty bourbon.

"Ooh, harsh Addie."

DeWitt's head snapped to the source of the voice, her eyes widening with surprise and a slight bit a horror.

"Charles Beckett," she stated, letting a smile slide to her face.

"Hello, Addie," Beckett said as he adjusted his relaxed stance against the doorway.

DeWitt let her smile widen as she welcomed her old friend into her office. "Come in Charlie. Would you like some tea, or something stronger?"

"Tea would be great," he said with a laugh as he slid onto the couch.

A moment later, DeWitt returned with two teas; black for her, two sugars for Beckett, as she remembered his preference. She gingerly placed the delicate teacups onto the table and took a seat adjacent to him.

"So how long has it been Charlie," she asked with poise. "Ten years?"

He nodded. "It has." But he was still the same, DeWitt mentally noted. The same sly smile, the same foppish manner of dress: Today he wore a crisp, all white suit and broad salmon colored tie. His icy blond hair was cropped short and neatly, but fashionably slicked.

Beckett gave a dashing smile. "It was London, where we last met, correct?"

"Right," DeWitt said as she took up her teacup, "London, European HQ conference. How are things in London?"

"They're good," he said, taking up his cup as well. "Dollhouse business as usual."

DeWitt took a sip of her tea before continuing, "So what brings you to Los Angeles, Charlie?"

He smiled. "Business, I suppose. Well personal business."

Beckett set down his glace, a sly smile gilding his narrow face. "I want some time with a one of your dolls Addie, and you're going to give it to me."

"An engagement, for you," DeWitt asked with an arched eyebrow. "Don't be preposterous, Charlie. Even if we weren't under these circumstances, you'd have a hard time of persuading me to consent to that."

Beckett chuckled, "That's precisely why you are going to give me what I want Addie, your circumstances. I can make them go away."

DeWitt was aghast. "Explain."

He moved himself from the couch, pacing about the office as he spoke, "About five years ago, the London Dollhouse came in contact with a compound we eventually referred to as AA-56X, which had unique properties especially when applied to our actives. However, things didn't go as planned. The compound manifested in a most peculiar way."

"Like a virus," DeWitt completed for him.

"Exactly," he said. "We were nearly completely incapacitated."

"What did you do," she asked.

"I created an anti-virus," he answered simply.

DeWitt shot up out of her seat, "How? We've had our technicians, our doctors, round the clock searching for anything that could alleviate our situation—"

"And then I show up," Beckett cut in, "with the solution to your…problem, and the only thing I ask for is some…time with one of your actives."

He arched an eyebrow expectantly. "Sounds pretty reasonable to me."

* * *

The elevator doors slid open to reveal Echo, with Boyd close behind. Topher let himself snicker when he saw Echo in this way: a tall, feathery, Vegas-showgirl- style headdress (which barely fit within the elevator) capped her form, which was garnered by a shimmering red sequin dress.

The private showgirl was one of Topher's favorite imprints.

Echo was mid-story with Boyd, talking in a thick Jersey accent , "So I was like 'Georgia, you can't let this guy walk all over ya' and she was like 'But Richie's such a stud muffin!' And that's when I realized, Georgia likes gettin' pushed around! I mean how messed up is that!" She stopped for a moment to step behind the changing screen, removed the headdress and handed it to Boyd, "Here take this," and without missing a beat. As she changed, she continued her story, "So I told her "Georgia, honey, you need help,' but ya know, she just kept gabbing and –"

"Maureen, I believe the good man wants to administer your treatment," Boyd said, indicating Topher.

Echo appeared from the screen, now in a tank and sweatpants. She plopped herself into the imprint chair and swiveled around to meet Topher on the other side, "Oh I'm sorry. Here I am gabbin' and gabbin' and you got a job to do." She reclined her head back into the headrest of the imprint chair. "Go ahead, work your magic."

Topher smiled, "Will do."

The imprint chair whirred to life, the arch about Echo's head glowed a brilliant blue, and in a moment, the Maureen imprint was gone, safely restored into the storage drive at the head of the chair.

The chair raised Echo to a seated position, staring innocently towards the men in the room.

"Did I fall asleep," she asked Topher

"For a little while," he responded.

"Shall I go now?"

"If you like."

Echo politely smiled and removed herself from the seat, exiting to the main atrium of the Dollhouse complex.

"Honestly, the show girl with the boisterous Jersey accent," Boyd asked with an arched eyebrow.

Topher chuckled, "It's what the client asked for, and we are in the business of giving people what they want."

Boyd narrowed his gaze. "I though we were in the business of giving people what they need."

"It's a fine line," Topher said while gesturing a wavering line.

"One we often cross," Boyd speculated.

"Whoa, whoa, man friend," Topher exclaimed as he removed the hot data drive from the chair, "don't go all philosophical on me."

"I'm not," Boyd glared. "And don't call me man friend."

* * *

"You will, of course, find our facilities much akin to your own," DeWitt said as she led Beckett through Dollhouse's main atrium.

"Well this tour is nice Addie," Beckett cut in, "But you don't have to sell me on the concept of the Dollhouse. Respectfully, I believe I'm already sold."

DeWitt smiled. "You're assuming this is just a tour, Charlie."

At the point, Echo was making her way down the stairs. Immediately, Beckett's gaze was captured. DeWitt's smile widened as she turned to Echo.

"Hello Echo," she greeted.

"Hello," Echo replied pleasantly.

"Did you enjoy your treatment?"

"Yes I feel quite relaxed."

"Good," DeWitt stated, "Perhaps you would like to swim in the pool."

A small smile came to Echo's face. "I would like that."

As Echo left, just a vacant as she came, Dewitt returned to Beckett.

"The purpose of this 'tour' was to give you a more intimate introduction to our actives," she stated. "Though I believe after barely five minutes into the tour you've already been sold on which active you want."

"I have," Beckett replied with a smile.

* * *

Echo swam her thirty laps after her encounter with DeWitt, and having been satisfied with the exercise, she decided it would be best to enjoy a light meal.

After retrieving a plate of fresh greens, she began to inspect the seating area for a place to sit. As was customary, she took a seat with Victor who was already mid-meal.

"Good day," Echo greeted him as she sat down her plate.

"Good day," Victor returned the greeting, though not as pleasantly as Echo greeted him.

Echo looked at him curiously. Based on his reply, the way his posture was very tense, and the frown that lined his face in between bites of food, she could tell something was wrong.

"You are sad," Echo observed, "Were you not your best?"

Victor let his utensils fall to the plate. "I don't know."

Echo looked confused. "Shouldn't you? Know?"

"I miss Sierra," Victor admonished.

Echo smiled comfortingly, "I do to."

Victor leaned in across the table and lowered his voice, "I think… I think she may be in trouble."

Echo matched his tone, "Why would you think that?"

"I don't know," Victor sighed as he leaned back in his seat. "It's just a feeling."

There was a pause at the table, both childlike actives not speaking and not eating.

"What if you're right," Echo finally spoke up.

"About Sierra," Victor asked.

Echo nodded as she swallowed. "Do you want to…help her?"

Victor's eyes darted about the room in contemplation momentarily before he gave his simple answer:

"Yes."


	10. Mrs Beckett

**VIRUS**

**Chapter 10 - Mrs. Beckett**

_Echo and Victor continue on their search for Sierra while DeWitt deals with Charles Beckett._

**DISCLAIMER: Same as before.....

* * *

**

Claire replaced Tango's file on the shelf. The active medically checked out for the next engagement, which would likely be in a couple of hours. Claire detested these conditions; The cramped schedule due to the virus gave the actives little down time which was essential to their function. Claire and Topher could chemically replicate "rest" in the actives' bodies, but the physiological strain on them had already caused its fair share of problems.

DeWitt was unrelenting in this, despite Claire's argument of quality over quantity. Nevertheless, controlled chaos persisted at the Dollhouse, and the virus persisted with it.

"Dr. Saunders?"

Claire snapped from her reverie. Echo and Victor were standing in the doorway.

"Echo. Victor," Claire greeted. "Did someone send you here?"

"No," Echo answered. "We came to see you—"

"About Sierra," Victor finished for her.

"Sierra?"

"We think she may be hurt," Echo stepped forward, "and we want to help her."

Claire returned to her desk. As far as she could tell, this was a first for the Dollhouse, and this was a place that was generally cautious around "firsts."

"It's nice that you're showing concern for your friend," Claire told them, "but Sierra is in good hands. You have nothing to worry about."

"Did someone tell you that," Victor asked innocently.

"Victor," Claire began soothingly, "Sierra is...being kept safe. She's away from you now because it's safer for her, for you.... for everyone. Do you understand?"

Victor nodded as his gaze fell to the ground.

"Isn't there anything we can do," Echo asked, a confused look garnering her face.

Claire shook her head. "We're doing all we can do."

A slight glimmer of dissatisfaction flickered across the actives' faces, though they said nothing.

A tech from the imprint lab rounded the corner into Claire's office.

"There you are Echo," he said with a broad smile. "Would you like a treatment?"

Echo looked to Victor, then to Dr. Saunders before answering: "A treatment would be... nice."

* * *

"I don't like it," Boyd said flatly to DeWitt.

She arched an eyebrow. "Curious. Usually it's Mr. Dominic's job to say that. What's not to like Mr. Langton? This is probably the safest engagement Echo will ever have."

The two entered the elevator, letting it take them to the main atrium of the Dollhouse.

"Safe," Boyd countered. "We're talking about exposing another active to the virus."

"As with any engagement there are risks," DeWitt returned. "Relax Mr. Langton. Echo will be more monitored than she's ever been on this one. After all, she won't be leaving these walls."

Boyd sighed slightly, resigning himself to his superior's message. The doors to the elevator at last opened.

"This man, Charles Beckett," Boyd continued. "Do you trust him?"

DeWitt's smirk faded. "Good God, no, but Charlie Beckett is an easily manipulated man."

"It would appear to me that he's manipulated us. Extorting time with an active with the promise of a cure? Sounds like manipulation to me."

"It would appear that way," said as her smirk returned. "Echo bares a striking resemblance to his deceased wife. She worked intimately with Charles on his neurochemistry studies for Rossum. Soon after, Rossum appointed him as overseer of the London Dollhouse, but his work in neurochemistry didn't stop there. He and his wife were working on a technique to chemically induce a wipe. However, there was an accident. Mrs. Beckett became exposed to a volatile compound they were working. The result..."

DeWitt paused.

"Let it suffice to say that the result was not pleasant."

"So we're flipping this whole thing on him," Boyd asked.

"Well considering he initially asked for twins with Norwegian accents, I would have to say yes."

Boyd stopped midstride. DeWitt stopped as well.

"You showed Echo to Mr. Beckett knowing full well his desires would change," Boyd stated.

"Yes and No," DeWitt answered his remark. "Mr. Beckett came to this Dollhouse asking for something he wanted. That was something I could not abide."

Boyd narrowed his gaze. "So you're giving him what he needs."

"Precisely," DeWitt smiled.

The two continued walking the elevated walkway above the atrium until the reached the imprint lab.

Through the window, Boyd could already see Topher shaking hands with Echo, who was presumably imprinted already.

"Come on," DeWitt said with unexpected cheer. "I'll introduce you."

DeWitt led the way into the lab; Boyd reluctantly in tow.

"Angela!"

Echo – Angela Beckett -- turned to meet DeWitt.

"Adelle!"

"It's so good to see you again," DeWitt smiled as she embraced her "old friend."

"My God, Adelle, it's been ages," Angela responded in a crisp accent matching Adelle's.

Boyd shook his head. Among all the things he had seen at the Dollhouse, this had to rank among the most wrong, the most off.

After exchanging a handful of pleasantries, DeWitt extended her hand to Boyd's shoulder, effectively roping him into the conversation.

"Angela," DeWitt began, " I would like you to meet my associate, Mr. Langton."

Angela extended her hand to Boyd. "It's a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Langton."

"The pleasure is mine Mrs. Beckett," Boyd responded objectively.

"Angie" DeWitt interceded once more. "If there's anything you require, please let Mr. Langton know, and we'll be more than happy to accommodate you."

"How about some clothes," Angela asked, indicating the sweatpants and tank she was wearing. "I must say I feel a little embarrassed meeting an old friend in my pajamas."

"Of course," DeWitt answered as she looked to Boyd.

"Right this way, ma'am," Boyd said, indicating the exit from the lab.

"And Angie," DeWitt called as they began to make their way out. "You're husband will be happy to know you've arrived safely, but you see, he already has poured himself into his work. Perhaps you would like to meet him in the lab after you've finished."

Angela shook her head. "Charlie is already into his work? I tell you Addie, the man has no concept of how to spend his free time! He's constantly working, you know him."

DeWitt smirked. "I do."


End file.
